


The Come Down

by doylesmom



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Atsumu character development seasoned with SakuAtsu, Chronic Illness, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Procedures, Medical Tests, Sick Fic, but mostly it's about Atsumu, dealing with a chronic illness, no death though don't worry, slaps Atsumu, tags to be updated as fic progresses, this bad boy can fit so much projection in him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylesmom/pseuds/doylesmom
Summary: Something is wrong with him.--Because who is Miya Atsumu, without volleyball?Even he cannot say.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	The Come Down

**Author's Note:**

> HOWDY EVERYBODY
> 
> My fic hiatus is coming to an end finally! And my first fic back is a super angsty one, of course. This is my first Haikyuu fic, so I hope yall enjoy. 
> 
> Fic title inspired by Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths. Please give it a listen, it's a great song.

It’s a Monday morning, and Atsumu is feeling decidedly  _ off _ . 

He can’t pinpoint it, not really. He doesn’t feel sick, per se. He double checks- no fever. And yet something,  _ something _ , isn’t right. It’s a strange phantom thing, an unusual heaviness in his limbs and a slight curling sensation in his stomach. 

It’s just a case of the Mondays, is all. He repeats it to himself, over and over, and by the time he finishes dressing for practice he’s convinced himself of it. He isn’t feverish or achey or congested. He’s twenty four now, perhaps he’s finally feeling that ‘got up on the wrong side of the bed’ thing?

The feeling fades. He shakes it off, locks his apartment door.

He makes a note to talk to his doctor about it, but buries the thought as his ride arrives at eight exactly, just like it does every day.

“Mornin’, Omi-Omi!” He trills as he slides into the sleek leather interior of his teammate’s car. Some foreign thing, all Italian leather and hand stitching and completely dust free. Sakusa grimaces at the nickname, but dutifully says nothing. The low thrum of the bass coming from his speakers settles into Atsumu’s bones and he lets himself sink into the melody, humming along as Osaka passes in a blur. Sakusa flicks the volume up a notch, the gesture almost friendly.

The odd feeling creeps back when the car is parked and Atsumu stands up, gently closing the door behind him. Bokuto and Hinata are door slammers, but he’s seen how Sakusa’s brow twitches in irritation as that happens and he’d rather not pick a fight so early in the morning. He can’t quite explain it, once again. 

Could he be developing an allergy? Don't those make you feel odd? His mother has seasonal allergies, he recalls. Perhaps he should start drinking tea. That helps with allergies, right?

His phone buzzes.

_ uglier twin: getting groceries, what do you need? _

Thank god for twin telepathy. 

_ me: tea, the kind that’s good for allergies  _

_ uglier twin: you don’t have allergies  _

_ me: just do it _

The changing room is lively as ever when he and Sakusa enter. Sakusa makes his way to the sinks, and Atsumu drops onto the bench in the changing room with his usual flair, the noise and bright lights and heady smell of sweat and deodorant and salonpas making his head swim. 

“Atsumu!” Hinata greets him enthusiastically, an unstoppable ball of sunshine even at almost nine in the morning. “You’ll never believe this video I saw last night!”

Hinata chatters as Atsumu pulls his practice uniform from his bag. He stands to change. 

His vision flashes white.

He falls.

\--

Atsumu’s eyes fly open, and before he can make sense of the world he feels the brush of fingers under his jaw, cold and shaky. The coolness feels good, feels comforting, somehow, and he leans into them.

The fingers pull away quickly.

Sakusa and Meian hover over him, their faces pinched and drawn and Atsumu wishes he could make sense of why but he’s so,  _ so _ tired. He feels like he can hear the voices of the others in the distance, but he’s not quite sure.

“Miya, we need you to stay awake.” Meian says, his voice firm, distant. “Coach is calling an ambulance, but we need you to stay awake until it gets here, okay?”

Atsumu nods, he thinks he does, at least, certainly the world spins enough for him to believe he is moving his head in some way. Meian continues, asks him the date, his age, where he is. November 27th, 2019, 24, Ohasuhigashi. Meian hums noncommittally, and Atsumu feels the fog begin to clear, to melt away.

“Wha?” He manages, brows furrowing as he notes the sound of sirens in the distance.

“You fell.” The voice is quiet, soft, but Atsumu would know it anywhere. Sluggishly his eyes move to find the owner, but Sakusa doesn’t meet his eyes. “You stood up and just fell over.”

Ah. So he had.

Meian sighs and gets to his feet and moves away, leaving Sakusa and Atsumu alone for just a moment.

“Sorry ‘bout this.” Atsumu slurs, just loud enough for Sakusa to hear.

Sakusa snorts derisively, like he always does. Somewhere in the slush that Atsumu’s brain has become, he takes a moment to watch the way Sakusa’s curls bounce in the harsh fluorescent light, inky black and elegant.

“I doubt you did this on purpose.” Is all that Sakusa says, a hand coming up to press against his jaw. His fingers are gentle, but cold. “Your pulse is a bit low.”

“I’s prob’ly nothin’.” Atsumu manages. “Allergies.”

He can hear the sound of sirens in the distance, and for reasons he cannot explain, he feels dread begin to creep through him, slow and sticky.

“Allergies,” Sakusa says, “Don’t make people faint.”

Atsumu has a very clever, very witty, incredibly decimating response to that. No really, he does. 

His eyes fluttter shut.

“Atsumu?”

He’ll tell it to Sakusa when he’s less tired.

“Atsumu!”

\--

He wakes again, this time to the beeping of machines and low buzz of conversation, just out of earshot. Wearily his eyes pull open, and he’s pleased to note that his vision is sharp, eyes focusing in on the television in the corner of his room, turned on and playing some shitty kids cartoon.

There’s a knock on the door, and a doctor comes in, smiling pleasantly at him. Osamu is close behind, to his surprise. He raises a brow, but Osamu shakes his head.

Later, then.

The doctor comes up to the machines first, making note of numbers on screens and humming to himself as he writes them down, the scratching of his pen just enough out of time with the beeping of the monitors to make Atsumu’s ears itch. Finally the note taking stops, and the doctor turns to face him. 

“Hello, Mr. Miya.” He says, smiling slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He replies honestly. He may not be the brightest at times, he can admit, but even he knows better than to lie to a doctor. “Confused. Where am I?”

“You’re at Mito Central Hospital.” The doctor tells him. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’ve been feelin’ off since I woke up.” He explains, gaze drifting down to his hands, to the IV taped against his skin. He quickly looks away, stomach rolling. He’s never been one for needles. “Thought maybe I’ve suddenly gotten allergies or somethin’. Next thing I know, I’m passin’ out in the locker room and wakin’ up on the floor. They said there was an ambulance on the way, and then I guess I fainted again.”

It’s a shitty story, but he’s sure the team publicist will juice it up somehow. No way there won’t be some kind of coverage on this.

“Well, luckily for you, Mr. Miya,” the doctor says with a smile once Atsumu is finished talking, “You only fainted once. The second time you just fell asleep. Fainting usually only lasts for a few seconds at most, but it can be very stressful on your body.”

“Ah.” He’s not quite sure what to say to that, so he glances over at Osamu, who is staring him down with a concerned look on his face. It’s disconcerting to say the least.

The doctor asks him a few more questions- about his energy levels lately, allergies and medications, any chest pains or nausea, on and on. It’s pretty par for the course, as far as Atsumu is aware. He remembers, vaguely, that when Osamu had fallen from a tree as a child and hit his head that their mother had been asked similar questions. Granted, he hasn’t been in a hospital since then, so for all he knows he’s dying.

The beeping of his heart monitor kicks up a few notches, catching the attention of the doctor and Osamu alike. Okay, maybe it’s best not to think those things while hooked up. 

“To be frank with you, Mr. Miya, there are a few readings here that have me a bit concerned.” The doctor finally says. The heart monitor hikes up again and Atsumu swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. That’s, uh, usually not good. He knows that. “I’d like to schedule you for an EKG and a CT scan, if that’s alright with you.”

Atsumu nods, unable to come up with a response. The doctor smiles once again, and leaves the room, scribbling away on his papers.

“Allergies, huh?” Osamu breaks the silence before Atsumu can begin to panic properly. Atsumu looks around for something to throw at his brother, but there’s nothing convenient in arms reach, so he just kicks out at him instead. Osamu is, of course, too far away for the kick to land, and Atsumu sighs in defeat. 

“In my defense, how the hell am I supposed t’know what allergies are like?” Atsumu grumbles. Osamu says nothing, slipping into the chair in the corner of the room, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose and push his hair away from his face.

“Scared the shit outta me, Tsumu.” He finally says. “Get a phone call outta nowhere that you collapsed and they’re takin’ you to the hospital. Great fuckin’ way to start a Monday.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Atsumu says as dryly as he can manage, clenching his free hand beneath the thin, scratchy hospital blanket, the coil of dread in his stomach ballooning with every breath. He’s not good with medical stuff, never has been, and a parade of medical drama scenes flashes behind his eyes. The stuff is hokey, he knows, but god, he can barely manage to get his yearly shots without crying, what the hell is gonna happen to him now? “I’ll make sure to schedule the next one for a weekend.”

“There better not fuckin’ be a next one.” Osamu threatens, and it’s enough to kickstart a childish argument. Atsumu knows it’s his brother’s way of trying to distract him, knows that Samu knows about his fear of hospitals and doctors and medical nonsense, knows it isn’t a real argument, just a way to keep him from worrying until the doctor returns. 

He worries nonetheless.

\--

His tests come back normal, and he’s allowed to sign himself out of the hospital, with the promise that he’ll take a few days off from practice. Exhaustion, the doctor guesses, perhaps dehydration.

It makes sense.

\--

It makes less sense two weeks later, when he faints once more, grasping at a sudden, sharp pain in his chest, right between his lungs.

When it happens a third time, he cannot hide from the truth any longer.

Something is wrong with him.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off of my own real life experience with this illness. Please let me know if you have any questions, and feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/ray_is_writing/).


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